


This Isn't Real

by TheRealFailWhale



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feelings, Once More with Feeling, Smut, Spuffy, if only they'd been emotionally aware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 21:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21483424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealFailWhale/pseuds/TheRealFailWhale
Summary: Set just after the Coda of OMWF. Buffy says she and Spike should talk about what just happened, except Spike is convinced that none of it is real.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 58





	This Isn't Real

_ This isn’t real _ .

Spike lay in his crypt, eyes shut tight as every muscle in his body tensed with the memory.

_ But I just wanna feel _ .

Heat. Hunger. An all-consuming need to fill his hands with every part of her. Her hair, slipping through his fingers. Her body pressed against his, not shying away from his obvious arousal. The thrill in his dead heart when she forced her tongue into his mouth, taking the power of the kiss away from him, leaving him completely at the mercy of her desires.

_ This isn’t real _ .

He turned on his side and curled around himself, trying to shut out the knowledge that what had happened not an hour ago would probably never happen again. They’d been under a spell. Technically neither of them had been in their right minds. Buffy had bloody sang the truth to him: this isn’t real.

Like her visits to him. The time spent in his crypt, sitting around, staring at nothing, letting him talk at her. None of that was real. She couldn’t be around her friends, not with them not knowing, but Spike? Spike knew, and that made him safe. But only until the scoobies found out. Then Spike’d be back on the sidelines, hiding in bushes and behind trees, hoping against hope that she might kiss him like that again. Or at all.

What had made him tell her to leave him alone? “Let me rest in peace?” No such thing. If Buffy stopped visiting, stopped allowing him to exist in her life, there’d be no peace. No rest. He’d lose the only thing that gave him purpose. 

Wherever that dancing demon was now, Spike hoped he was uncomfortable as fuck.

_ tap tap _

Spike turned his head and sniffed, drawing in the scent of whoever was knocking on his door. Stiffened. Buffy.

_ tap tap _

“Dammit,” he growled, swinging himself off the sarcophagus and standing in front of the stone door. He drew in a steadying breath, urging his mind to settle, to draw away from the unreality that happened earlier. He opened the door.

And there she stood, red shirt, black coat, blonde curls. Spike had noticed the parallel in their clothes, had wondered if that was an element of the spell/curse/whatever. Probably.

“Slayer,” he greeted her evenly.

“Spike.” She looked as awkward as he felt. But he stood aside and let her enter, shutting the door behind them.

Buffy sat in one of his armchairs. Spike hesitated before sitting in the other. He couldn’t figure out what was going on under those curls. The sudden memory of the silkiness of her hair caused him to clench his fist, and he cleared his throat.

“What brings you back here at this hour?” he asked bluntly, trying to draw upon whatever harshness his demon had at the moment.

“We should talk,” Buffy sighed, drawing her coat tighter around her.

“Should we?” Spike countered, ignoring the sensible side of him that screamed for him to let her talk, to let her explain. “Pretty sure we both know what that all was. Spell made us do it, add a little finishing touch to the show or whatever.”

“Not that,” she said quietly, not meeting his eyes. “I--I would have died if you hadn’t come. Shown up. To save me.” Her gaze flickered to his face and away again. She’d been having a hard time looking anyone in the face since she came back.

“Ah.” His mouth dried up. “Well, I’m sure your scoobs would’ve jumped in if I hadn’t. They wouldn’t let you burn up. Hell, they didn’t let you the first time, did they?” The joke fell lamely between them, neither of them laughing.

“I think they were still in shock.” Buffy stared at the floor. “What I said...I don’t think they were ready to move yet. I would’ve died.”

“Didn’t though,” Spike pointed out needlessly, foot tapping out an anxious beat on the stone floor.

“What you said, Spike,” Buffy began, then corrected, “What you  _ sang _ …” She met his eyes then, and suddenly all he could see was the image of her face pressed close to his. “Did you mean it?”

Spike shook his head, pushing that memory away for the time being. “Which bit, luv?”

“Do you really want me to leave you alone? I mean, I know it was just a song, but...”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he admitted in a low voice. “The last bit of song was closer to what I’d want. Never would’ve said it. Not after last year, but…yeah,” he finished lamely.

“You mean about me making you feel?” Buffy asked, eyes meeting his. If he could blush…

“Yeah. Doesn’t really matter though,” he added brusquely, walking over to grab some blood out of the fridge.

“Why not?” How could she look so innocent?

“Cause of what you said.” When Buffy continued to look confused, he sighed and took a swig of cold blood. Disgusting. “‘This isn’t real,’ remember?”

“Oh, that,” Buffy looked down, twisting her fingers. Spike gritted his teeth. Of course she could forget something like that easily. It didn’t break  _ her  _ heart, not that he wasn’t used to it. Didn’t stop it from hurting every time though. “I don’t know if I meant that.”

Spike nearly dropped his jar of blood. He carefully set it down on the fridge and stared at Buffy, her face hidden behind her golden hair. “I thought our little dancing friend made us sing our feelings or whatever. Brought the truth screaming out of us against our will. Think that means you did mean it, luv.”

“Are you saying I don’t understand my own feelings?” Buffy sounded annoyed as she looked up at him again, mouth twisted in a frown.

“I’m saying that you must’ve meant part of it, or you wouldn’t have sung it,” Spike insisted grumpily. Why was she even here, insisting they talk about this? Better they just move on and forget about it. 

“Then you must have meant that you wanted me to leave you alone, so maybe I will.” Buffy stood up, looking furious. “Honestly, Spike, I come over here, try to talk to you, and all you do is push me away.” She made for the door, but Spike scrambled to stand in her way, fists clenched at his sides.

“ _ I’m  _ pushing you away? Try it the other way around, pet,” he snarled down at her. “The entire time we’ve been--whatever we are, you’ve kept me at arm’s length. Even when you come by and sit in here, you hardly seem to want to be closer. You come here because it’s easy.  _ That  _ much I did mean.”

“You--!” Buffy snapped, swinging a fist toward his face, but Spike was used to the Slayer hitting him and he dodged it easily, and the one that followed it.

“There you go, let it out!” Spike crowed, throwing his own punches back at her. There wasn’t much heat behind their blows, but Spike could see the frustration on Buffy’s face so he kept going. “Come on, Slayer, hit me!”

“You’re such a--dick!” Buffy grunted as she spun and kicked out at his stomach, actually catching him off guard enough to force a responding grunt out of Spike.

“Only for you, luv,” Spike grinned madly, glad at least that they were past the awkward talking, the staring, the complete lack of communication. Buffy darted left but too late did Spike realize she was feinting, and he took a full-force Slayer punch to the side of his head, sending him stumbling back into a sarcophagus. When Buffy came at him, Spike--not wanting to get punched again--grabbed Buffy’s arms and pulled her to him, knowing that at least she couldn’t hit him from that position, hoping for at least a brief reprieve before she fought out of his embrace.

But to Spike’s surprise, Buffy stopped, like a rabbit seeing a wolf. She thudded into Spike’s chest as she offered no resistance to his sudden grab, hair fluttering around her head, some of it tickling Spike’s nose. When she didn’t try to break his hold, Spike slowly moved his hands to circle her shoulders, feeling her warm breath through his t-shirt. Immediately, he felt relaxed, the tension of their fight draining out of him as he breathed in the scent of her, one he was so familiar with but that seemed more intoxicating from up close. When they’d kissed before, his other senses had been too hyperactive for him to appreciate how she smelled--clean, with a hint of vanilla. She fit neatly beneath his chin and when Buffy didn’t voice an objection to his arms around her, he slowly laid his cheek against her head.

“What are you doing?” Buffy whispered, not hugging him back.

“Figured this beat the hell out of punching,” Spike murmured, even as his brain yelled  _ this isn’t real _ .

“Spike…” Buffy’s voice was almost too quiet for him to hear. “What do you want from me?”

“I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.” Which was true. If she pushed him away, he’d accept it. If she told him to leave her alone, to forget they’d kissed, that he’d held her just now, Spike would let it go, drift off into loneliness. 

At first, Spike couldn’t tell what was happening, but he slowly realized that Buffy’s hands were creeping around his waist. They felt small, gentle. Timid. But when they met behind him, they tightened, holding him to her just as he held her. They stood, breathing, holding. Spike tried to keep the words she’d sung out of his mind, with little success. He seemed determined to ruin this moment for himself. But he didn’t let go.

“You do too, you know.” Her voice was muffled against his chest, and he both heard and felt her speak. “Make me feel.”

“Guess I should consider myself lucky, then,” Spike said lightly. “Hard to reach you through that fog you surround yourself with.”

“Are you ever serious?” Buffy asked, craning her head back to look at him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. Yeah. She was feeling now.

“Only when I have to be,” Spike smiled. The hopeful part of his brain was telling him to kiss her again, to reach out and take what she seemed to be offering. He gave in, a little, and leaned his face ever so slightly down toward her. He saw her hesitate for a second, and then she stretched up and brought their lips together again.

It felt even better this time. Perhaps because Spike knew this wasn’t some demon’s spell bringing them together, that Buffy was pouring herself into him willingly, with a clear mind. He brought up his hand to cradle her head, relishing the feel of her hair, impossibly soft. Where their kiss before had been desperate and hungry, this one was gentle, slow. Taking their time to explore the other, not fueled by anything but want.

At least, it started slow. Before Spike was quite ready, Buffy took charge again, her fingers digging in deep where they held him. His breath hissed out as she bit his lip, and she took advantage of that small opening to push her tongue into his mouth, flicking around, feeling where his fangs were hidden. Spike moaned and traced his other hand up her back, feeling the ridges of her spine through the leather coat she wore. He wanted it off her, wanted to feel her skin against his palm, to know if it was as hot as her lips.

As though she knew what he wanted--maybe she wanted it too--Buffy pulled away from him, keeping her lips on his, and tore off her jacket before coming back to him and if he thought she felt good before, the feeling multiplied without that thickness between them. Now he could feel the warmth of her beneath her shirt and before he could think his hands were slipping up the back, caressing the skin of her hips and lower back. Like her hair, it was soft, the fine hairs on her skin brushing against his palms like impossible chalk, smooth but catching against him at the same time. He heard her whimper lightly in her throat and pull him closer, which was nearly impossible at this point. Spike spun them around, lifting Buffy briefly before settling her onto the edge of the tomb. She immediately wrapped her legs around him and pulled him in, fingers now running through his own tight curls. Still kissing furiously, they stroked each other, Spike running his hands from her thighs up to her waist, thumbs trailing circles into her skin, while Buffy felt his neck, shoulders, and back. 

This was like nothing he’d ever felt. Spike had been with Dru most of his existence, but never had it ever felt like this. There’d been desperation between them, and he’d thought he’d known what need felt like, but what he felt now told him that whatever he’d had with Dru was nothing. He felt like he’d been drowning and Buffy was pulling him out of the water. 

“Spike,” Buffy murmured, her hands tight in his hair as she kissed him over and over.

“‘m here, luv,” Spike responded, his skin heated from the contact between them.

“Be more here,” Buffy whispered, pulling away and pressing her forehead to his. He opened his eyes and saw her staring at him, a need that he felt reflected in her expression.

“You mean--”

“Uh huh,” and then she was kissing him again, steadily pulling him up onto the sarcophagus after her until he was covering the length of her with his body, unable to hide his arousal as it pressed into her thigh.

When her hand disappeared from his head and began trailing down between them, Spike couldn’t stop his breathing from speeding up, rushing out in a groan when she gripped him through his jeans. In response he wedged his leg between hers, pushing them apart until she was groaning too as he began shifting against her, pressing his thigh into her crotch. His head was light as what blood he’d drank rushed to his dick, which Buffy was squeezing relentlessly.

“...feel you,” Spike growled, sitting up on his knees and grappling with her button and zipper. Buffy responded by undoing his own jeans, pulling them down so that his cock jumped free and she wrapped a hand around it, nearly sending him spinning. It was a little more difficult to push down her jeans, but she wriggled beneath him, hand still on him, until they were past her knees and he could reach between her legs and--

“ _ Oh fuck _ ,” Buffy moaned loudly, eyes squeezing shut as her hand started stroking him. Spike could feel her wetness, could smell it even, and he would’ve gladly traded the taste of real blood forever if he could just taste her once.

Spike lowered himself to his side, positioned so that he could keep using his fingers on Buffy even as she jacked him, her thumb rubbing against his tip and spreading the wetness there down his length. He was usually more interested in penetration, but at that moment he’d happily give it up if it meant never losing this. His sex-filled, Buffy-filled mind was so ready to give up everything he’d thought he’d enjoyed just for her, for this.

As Buffy’s hips started to dip up into his palm, encouraging him to explore further and deeper, Spike couldn’t stop his own hips from thrusting slowly into her hand. He was breathing heavily into her ear, but she didn’t seem to mind. She turned her face to his and put their lips together, but she was clearly too focused on what was happening down below to actually kiss. They moved together, gasping into each other’s mouths as they came closer and closer to the edge, the hard stone scraping against their skin.

And then Buffy was jerking and panting, the heat between her legs filling his palm even as her knees locked tightly. Spike heard the sound of cracking stone and guessed that she was gripping the side of the tomb so that she didn’t rip his cock off as she pulled him over the edge with her, and he came across her stomach, mind flying in all directions at once, distractedly glad that her shirt had been pulled up out of the way.

“Buffy,” he managed to whisper as his eyes fell shut and his head collapsed against her shoulder. He felt her legs spasm, his hand still wedged between them, and as their trembling slowed he gently laid one leg over her, hooking around her calf to pull her close.

After a minute of mutual panting, Buffy turned under his leg and pillowed her head on her arm. She stared at him, not seeming to care that the sweat they’d created was slowly drying in the cool night air.

“What happened?” she murmured, raising her clean hand and resting it on his cheek.

“Pretty sure we both just proved that we didn’t entirely mean what we sang,” Spike replied softly, taking in the sight of her mussed hair and drowsy eyes.

_ This isn’t real _ .

_ Shove it _ , he thought back to himself, shutting away his misgivings. For the time being.

Buffy smiled, looking nervous even after what they’d done together. What they’d shared. But the look in her eyes suggested that the nerves wouldn’t last. That they might do it again.

And he began to hope that it might be real after all.


End file.
